


'Till Death Do Our Hearts Unite

by IantoPace



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Autism Spectrum, Crime, Green Card, Green Card wedding, M/M, Marriage, Not an exact wedding, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoPace/pseuds/IantoPace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam knows he's now illegal, and knows an easy solution, which isn't easy to him at all. Trouble is, he's not the only illegal resident in the area, though he's more near-illegal until the exact expiration date; Nigel's going to be found, quite soon, as it would seem, but there's this boy outside the green card distribution center, and what could he possibly need from there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till Death Do Our Hearts Unite

His feet hurt.

 

His stomach felt heavy, the way he hated where he felt as if it was something he should scratch at or remove from his body. The feeling started when he was noticed about a certain mistake.

 

Not mistake, truly. It was something his father took care of, something Harlan had forgotten to pick up on when his father died. Adam worried that Harlan’s guilt was the only reason he had helped him with this. It doesn’t matter as much now, he was helpless, anyway.

 

In two days, though, he would be officially illegal, as seen by the government of the United States of North America. Harlan and Beth had repeated each other when he had shared the trouble. Harlan, obviously, already knew, and he had followed his apology by quickly telling him how to stay. Beth had been kind with it, showed what Adam thought was concern, and researched a little, unnecessary research if she only needed it to share with Adam, but he enjoyed her sweet voice calmly informing him.

 

He personally saw one option for himself once ruling in the factors and requirements of the other. Both were extremely hard, nearly impossible, but one seemed just slightly more impossible for him. Its requirements included his and an individual’s consent to a legal marriage. Certain _personality_ traits made this specifically troublesome for Adam. His only friends were someone who knew him as a child and was close to his father, and a woman who was extremely kind but someone a romantic relationship had failed with. Even if she was that selfless and able to arrive in the USNA within two days, he didn't want to burden Beth with himself, he knew better than that.

 

An implication with “I’ll try to take care of it” had kept them from intruding into his anguish. He wanted to stop speaking to them until he settled everything and _somehow_ calmed down.

 

He settled into bed about fifty-six hours before the green card expired. The heaviness in his stomach made him roll into positions he rarely used -on his stomach, on his side with his knees to his chest- and were therefore not comfortable, either. A tear of frustration sliding to his temple urged him enough to leave his bed, fully dress and go through his morning hygiene routine, and leave his house to walk to the green card center. The clock he passed on his way out claimed the time was 2307.

 

The large, one-story building was entirely dark in the windows when he arrived, but he had to take care of this before dealing with anything else. It was stuck on his mind and nothing was successfully distracting anymore. Impending change was obscuring his schedule and focus with stress and now he wasn’t able to sleep. He had lost his father and home already, nearly lost a friend and was about to be hastily uprooted again.

 

So he would wait here until morning, but now his feet hurt, so he sat down on the side of the entrance ramp, directly on the edge to avoid the metal railing bruising his back.

 

* * *

 

The inhibition of America’s security might be their lack of guards. They were hired to secure one person at a time, which, while necessary, showed the lack in their population.

 

Nigel really didn’t give a fuck about that and political shit, but he knew there were no guards on the green card center after 9:00 p.m. and no sensors surrounding the bland structure of cement.

 

The fucking clean grounds was causing him more problems: No smoking. That mistake was almost made by one of his workers. Leaving one fag in the otherwise clean area would guarantee a DNA test and the motherfuckers would know the most likely suspect.

 

The kid standing at the front also wasn’t helpful. He’d been standing there for half an hour, shoulders raised and forward with his hands in his pockets as if tucking himself away, bringing Nigel to designate him “kid”, the likeness furthered by the scared, troubled expression on his clean-shaven face with the somewhat messy hair.

 

Nigel didn’t want to wreck such a vulnerable face, so if he could just fucking fuck off that would be fucking perfect.

 

The back door would work fine, actually, easier, too, since it lead almost directly to what he needed, so he mostly just needed the kid to turn away.

 

A few foolish mistakes, some idiot knowing his name, and he was about to be found out. Of course, the fuckers didn’t know his various illegal acts, but they would find that his name was not under their registered, legal citizens.

 

Now he needed a fucking green card and some fake entering of his identity into the system.

 

The other choice barely came into consideration at first. He was a _bit_ married already, divorced, really, and his ex lived in Romania, for fuck’s sake, so that wouldn’t count at all. He would marry, if it came to that. If it was that needed, but he tried to keep hold on the idea that marriage was a fucking vow. Hell, he had barely survived the last one with the “‘till death do us part” - both claiming that the other was “dead to [them]” helped a lot as a copout.

 

He was leaning a little closer to trying marriage now, because their good moments were _so fucking good_ and he wanted to know if that could last in a second try, and he wasn’t particularly opposed to romance.

 

But his entire team was; men (fucking children with they way they acted) who tended to be homophobic, and _in Europe_ , returning in about two days. He didn’t want to risk picking up a slag off the streets or some club. His ex was a pure, enrapturing beauty who captured his desire with a passion of her music. Why the fuck would he settle for anything -well, _very much_ \- less.

 

Trouble was, it crossed his mind that the clean-shaven brunette might be having similar issues. Nigel had been one to look for a possible partner in everyone, though quickly removing anyone he didn’t take interest in, ruling out the whores who might be fine for one fuck later, and ruling out the kids who talked too much. He’d also never worked with someone he took that interest in, his current team’s prejudice made that an easier choice. But the pretty, pure young thing standing there with that blatant anxiety drew his attention.

 

As things tended to **not** end with him, he decided to not take initiative and fuck up that opportunity, unless, of course, the other might need his help...

 

Nigel looked up again and found the kid sitting down, still huddled in on himself and moving his gaze between his thighs and the stores across the street.

 

He wasn’t focusing on the building, good, not even facing it, and he wasn’t on alert enough to notice what Nigel would be doing, so he finally hurried around back and pulled out two pins, one curved at an end at a rounded 90° angle. He pressed close to the door, a habit that he used to do to reassure himself, as if no one was able to tell what he was doing, because if they didn’t think he was picking the lock, they must think he was dry-humping a fucking door.

 

So maybe he underestimated the security of America, as he came to think after ten minutes of unsuccessful attempts. Really, these fucking locks must function differently or some shit, because he couldn’t _fucking-_

 

_Shit._

 

Nigel stilled, cursing himself out as he drew his eyes up, looking to his left with his hands still at the lock.

 

He preferred to believe that, after so many years in practice, the drop in his stomach at being discovered had left. That must have been the adrenaline clouding his senses, because he felt it like the fall of iron this time.

 

The kid wasn’t huddled together anymore, but his expression wasn’t neutral, he still looked troubled, standing still with his eyes roaming over what lay in front of him, not solely focused on Nigel.

 

But, as Nigel drew away from the door, swiftly slipping the pins back into his pocket, the boy’s gaze focused more and more on him. He didn’t move away until Nigel stepped within a couple feet from him. He took another step, met with a smaller step back from the other, then stopped. With a tilt of his head and the slight raise of his chin, he spoke his first words to the younger one.

  
“Now what’s to be done about this, darling?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if green card centers truly exist, I don’t care to research this, as this is fucking fiction and this is how the plot settles better.
> 
> I might have been able to follow true laws with Lucas...  
> I’m not entirely sure how the fuck these laws work, so fuck that, these are my rules. If the law of being permitted to remain in the country to be with a spouse, in fact, does not apply to two who are both nearly illegal, it might make more sense considering their relationship; homosexual relationships are not permitted and/or tolerated in some countries. Disregarding where their accents imply they’re from, let’s assume, for the sake of this plot, that one or both of their countries of origin do not legally permit a homosexual marriage.


End file.
